


A Song in Your Throat That You Don't Want to Hear

by Hecate



Category: DC Extended Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comes Back Wrong, Isolation, Loss of Control, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Prison, Resurrection - came back wrong, Superpowers, Superpowers - Manifest as Adult, Superpowers - Sudden Manifestation, Violence, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-08-21 11:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/pseuds/Hecate
Summary: After Midway City, GQ isn't quite himself.





	A Song in Your Throat That You Don't Want to Hear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallflowering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowering/gifts).



GQ wakes up.

[There's a nurse in his room, a quiet woman, and she doesn't notice when he opens his eyes. Doesn't notice when he sits up slowly, his body aching with an odd pain, distant and yet sharp.

He rips her throat out.]

GQ wakes up.

~*~

There's blood on the wall, shades of red thrown against it, a knife wound on pale skin. GQ is staring at the blood, his face pressed into the concrete floor, an uncomfortable bent to his neck. He should probably get up.

But he's tired.

And there's a weight on him; heavy and unmoving, a growl in his ears. He thinks it would be too hard to throw the weight off.

GQ closes his eyes.

~*~

He wakes up, and the room has changed - dark walls that stand closer to him than they should, a dim light above him.

No window.

No nurse.

No blood.

GQ forces himself up, settles on his elbows, his body bent, and looks around. Counts to five and gets up, his body screaming in protest, the pain hitting him from all sides. He stumbles, uses a wall to keep himself standing, recites his name and rank in his mind five times.

Tries to remember.

And the past swallows him.

He is surrounded by water again - water and darkness. The world explodes above him, and a dark shape comes up beneath him, strong and fast. It pulls him deeper, pulls him away from the fire and further into the dark. For a moment, he is safe. But something follows them, something sharp-edged and furious and _evil_. And it got to GQ.

"Shit," he whispers, and he's back in the room, his mind jerking away from his memories. "Goddammit."

He can feel it now, this horrible thing, and he knows with stupefying certainty that it won't let him go.

Inside of him, something stretches and grins.

~*~

Time moves oddly ever since he woke up in the hospital. It's in bits and pieces, parts missing, and GQ doesn't know how long he has been in the cell. Doesn't know what's going on outside of it. Thinks he might have an idea where he is.

Belle Reve is a myth. It's soldiers gossiping when the missions get too long, and there's nothing to do. It's a name that Rick mentioned once or twice in passing, no context and no explanation. GQ never took it seriously. It was just another prison, after all.

Or maybe not.

It's where Rick's squad of monsters came from, killers and maniacs and that damn crocodile man. It's where Waller put all the things that she couldn't keep anywhere else, a wet dream of a prison. And it has closed its walls around GQ.

~*~

GQ wakes up and thinks, for a fleeting moment, that he is not alone, that there's somebody in the room with him, watching him. But there's no one; it’s only him, the sound of his breath, the cell small and empty.

There's blood on the wall.

And blood on his knuckles.

[A dreamlike memory of a fury that isn't his, echoes of words he doesn't understand]

He closes his eyes, tries to sleep.

~*~

Waller is stone-faced, unreadable, but then she always is. GQ is almost happy to see her. He hasn't been captured by enemy forces. He is where he thought he might be, the confirmation soothing.

But she doesn't speak, just looks at him, and after a while, a new unease settles in GQ's stomach. An unease that stays with him after she left. She left him alone, after all. She left him with that shadow under his skin. And voices in his head.

And no place to run.

~*~

It's been days since Waller visited him, he thinks. Days of nothing. A silent guard pushing his food through an opening in the door again and again.

GQ staring at the wall for hours, the ceiling. Wandering through the cell like a caged animal, the same steps repeated over and over. Showering and sleeping in a random rhythm.

Being silent because he is a soldier. He is a goddamn Navy Seal. He won't beg or scream or give away his secrets for the tiniest bit of attention. They all know about his secret anyway.

~*~

Rick looks weary, tired, and his hands are balled into fists. "The nerds are working on it," he says, and GQ nods, attempts to look confident, standing at ease, his eyes focused on Rick. "They're going to find a solution," Rick goes on.

GQ almost laughs. But he doesn't, he nods again, his smile more a ghost than anything else. “Any idea how long it will take, sir? I'm getting bored.”

“I'm getting you books,” Rick replies, and it doesn't answer anything.

“Rick...” GQ starts but stops when Rick stiffens. “I can't remember the last time I read a book,” GQ offers instead.

Rick smiles at him briefly and raps his knuckles against the door as a goodbye before he turns to walk away.

GQ watches him, thinks of waking up, calls after Rick, “Who was she?" and isn't sure he wants an answer.

Rick stops, his whole body taut, untouchable. "We're taking care of the family," he says.

GQ nods to himself, and he lets Rick go.

~*~

It's dark in his cell again, and GQ doesn't know what time it is, only knows the rhythm of the artificial light they give him. With the shadows reaching for him, GQ thinks he might have been better off dead.

He's pretty sure that nobody cares about that.

~*~

They give him a laptop, and GQ writes his report for Midway City. It's the silliest thing he has ever done.

Still, it's expected. So it's what he does.

He writes, “I got possessed,” and “I still am.” Deletes those words, saves the file without them. Sends it all off and tries not to think about the last moments of the mission, of the water and the bomb and drowning.

Somebody grabbing him. Somebody saving him.

Losing himself, despite that.

~*~

The doctor's smile is fake, uneasy and forced. GQ doesn't offer him one of his own, just settles down on the examination table. He lets one of his guards secure his wrists and ankles. Tells himself to relax, to just let it happen. Things will be fine. And they are for a few moments.

Then, the doctor gets too close to his eyes with his penlight, and reality slips away.

Just for some seconds, just for an eternity.

He comes to, and he's standing in the middle of the room, a guard pointing a gun his way. The doctor is on the ground. The metal straps of the table are in shattered pieces.

Rick is standing in front of him, arms up, palms facing GQ in a silly line of defense. “Keep cool,” he tells GQ as if this was just another mission, as if GQ hasn't gone insane.

GQ stares at him.

[Sees the beat of Rick's pulse beneath the skin of his neck, bends his fingers, sees claws where there aren't any. Takes a step.]

He's on the ground, the last current still running through him, electricity burning his insides, shaking him to the core. Rick is standing above him, another Belle Reve guard by his side, taser still in hand.

"Shit," GQ croaks.

Rick doesn't say anything.

~*~

They put him in another cell. They place him as far away from gen pop as they can, deep below the other cells where it's dark and damp. They are putting him next to Waylon Jones, Killer Croc, or whatever that thing's name is. That tells GQ more than they probably want him to realize.

He sees Jones when they push GQ into his own cell, Jones a hulking shape behind bars. Hears him once they leave GQ alone in his new home, rough breathing, claws running over metal. And GQ remembers marching behind him, swimming into danger with him. He was still himself then.

“I saved you,” Jones says, and GQ thinks of being pulled away from the explosion.

Snorts and says, “No such thing as saving me.”

~*~

Rick comes by, his eyes running over GQ's new accommodations, not settling on anything before saying, “Sorry.”

GQ shrugs. “I tried to hurt you.”

A brief frown, Rick leaning against the wall, too close to the bars, and GQ thinks of warning him. But Rick knows the danger, and he isn't dumb. “Not sure that was you.” A pause, Rick looking lost in memory for a moment. "Not all the way, at least."

“Doesn't matter,” GQ replies.

“Yeah,” Rick agrees. “Maybe.” A deep breath, a grimace instead of a smile. “They are still working on it.”

Then, he leaves.

GQ watches him walk away.

And he thinks of saving Rick when the creatures attacked them in Midway City. He remembers Harley at his side, the two of them in harmony. Harley, the craziest of all these assholes. And it had been so damn easy to work with her, to ignore her comments and turn his back to her, believing that he would not get a knife slid between the ribs for his trust.

Maybe he's always been a little crazy, too.

~*~

Midway City comes to him in his dreams. Flashes of memories, his team dying, the last of them in the muddy water beneath the witch's feet, pulled into their deaths by creatures that were comrades just hours ago. He hears Croc shouting again, telling him to go on, and he swims on. Behind him, people keep on dying.

Somebody orders him to wake up.

~*~

“They say you went crazy,” Jones states, and GQ half-loves and half-hates it, this new place he's living in. He's not alone anymore. There's Jones and a new idea of time passing, days turning into nights, the rhythm of the guards bringing them both food giving it away.

“Do they?” he asks. He gets up, walk to the bars and settles against the wall closest to Jones' cell. “I guess, I kinda did.”

Silence, then, and GQ thinks it's hours before Jones answers. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah?” he asks, confused for a moment before remembering their brief conversation.

“Could be just you,” Jones says. "Killing people."

“Like you?”

An amused sound, maybe laughter, maybe a snort. “I'm a hero.”

GQ laughs, too.

~*~

They get Jones for a mission, and GQ looks after them as they walk away. It's a strange sight, a squad of guards in black, so obviously nervous. And Jones, so much taller than them, growling and snarling.

He wishes he could go with them.

It's boring without Jones.

And he hates being useless.

~*~

Croc comes back with a fresh burn running down his side. GQ doesn't ask. Wonders instead, who gave it to him and if they are still alive. He doubts it.

Rick comes back, and he brings GQ some books, cheap romance novels. GQ stares at him, raises an eyebrow.

“They are Harley's,” Rick tells him. “And she's not around right now.”

“Mission?”

“Nah, that crazy boyfriend of hers broke her out.” There's a pause, a glance to the right to Croc's cell. "That asshole likes to set things on fire."

GQ breathes out. “Shit.” And he's worried, suddenly, and sharply so. “You gonna go out again to get her?”

“Nah. We gonna let Batman have this fun this time. Seems like he's into that.” A smile, grim and dark. “That guy is insane.”

And GQ knows that Rick hates waiting this out, is glad that his CO isn't going after Harley without him a second time. Says, “Seems to be a thing these days.”

~*~

It's late, and GQ hears the sound of Jones' TV running, voices and music. He remembers Rick telling him that it's game day, remembers the flashes of guilt on his face after.

"Hey, Jones," GQ shouts. "Are you into football?"

Silence, then after a moment, "No." And nothing else.

GQ breathes out, leans back against the wall, mutters, "Of course, you're not."

Another long night then, some more hours of his life wasted away with nothing to distract him from the cell and its darkness and its smell. Nothing to distract him from the fury beneath his skin. This thing that wants to break through and claw its way through the walls and into the light.

Then, the familiar intro sound, the familiar voices of the commentators. GQ opens his eyes, stares into the darkness. Smiles.

~*~

June visits him, leans against the bars of his cell with a brief smile, and says, "Hey."

GQ nods at her, thinks that it's funny he's only meeting her now. He has heard of her, that woman on Rick's side, that monster under Waller's thumb. But he never met her.

“It's the witch, isn't it?” he asks her. There is no other reason for her to come to him.

June shrugs. “The brother, we think.”

GQ swallows. “Any idea how to get rid of it?”

“They are reading the lore,” June says. "Ask me a lot of questions, too." A sad smile, some kind of apology in it. “But there isn't much. Sorry.”

GQ nods, and he tries to ignore the heavy feeling that settles inside his body, lost hope, resignation. He is a soldier. These feelings aren't for him. There is only dealing with reality.

“So they'll pretend to try for a while, and then I'll rot here,” he says, and he tries to sound casual, tries to accept it.

But June looks angry, defiant. “I'm helping them,” she says “And I won't give up.”

~*~

He reads Harley's books. There's not much else to do anyway. He reads Harley's books, and they're bad - purple prose and men on horses, women with the hair flying in the wind or spread out across pillows.

“Jones,” he says, “You won't believe this shit.

A grunt, unimpressed. “Name is Croc.”

GQ looks away from the book, looks at the wall separating their cells. Wonders, for the first time, about Jones' family. Says, “Okay,” and starts reading aloud.

~*~

They send in a doctor, four guards on his side. It's not enough.

“Make it a choice,” Croc says later, after the chaos died down, and they carried a body out of his cell.

GQ thinks of June, of all the awful things she did when the witch still owned parts of her. Thinks of the whispers that follow him out of his dreams and into his days. “I doubt that this is a possibility,” he says.

A growl, impatient and harsh. “Then own it.”

GQ snorts. “Like wearing those ugly sweaters my mom always gave me for Christmas.”

Croc doesn't answer.

~*~

It's morning. GQ thinks it's Saturday, and Croc is watching cartoons.

For some reason, it's making GQ smile.

~*~

He wakes up, and his dream is still with him, the voice of a monster filling his mind, words he doesn't understand. Words that urge him to get up, to scream until they send in a guard, a doctor. Somebody to rip apart.

He wakes up, and he pushes himself up, back against the wall, and he tells the voice in his head to go fuck itself.

There is something laughing inside of him. It's a horrible sound.

GQ hits his head against the wall then, again and again, the thud almost drowning out the noise inside of him. Almost but not quite, and he thinks, for a crazy moment, that it would work if he hit the wall harder. Would work if there was blood.

Then, another sound.

A rhythm coming from the cell next to his, Croc's cell, a message GQ doesn't understand. Still, he walks across his cell, settles down next to the other wall and leans against it. Listens. And falls asleep.

~*~

There are guards outside, and for a moment GQ thinks they are coming for him. Instead, they go to Croc's cell, a whole platoon of them, and they enter it with their weapons out.

GQ can hear them fight.

When one of them stumbles out of the cell, his face smeared with blood, GQ reaches through the bars. Grabs him. Slams his head against the wall next to his cell. Smiles at the sound.

Moments later, they are on him, tasers hitting him, the current bringing him to his knees, bile rising in his throat.

It was worth it.

“Didn't need your help,” Croc says a few hours later, and he sounds almost petulant.

GQ snorts, says, "Of course, you didn't," and he tells himself not to think about being a soldier, about having a purpose. That's just another thing he lost along with his freedom.

~*~

Rick comes by with another stack of books and a weary face, and GQ bows his head, shrugs. "Getting antsy here, Rick."

"Antsy enough to attack the guards?" Rick asks. "Not a good look, soldier."

"I'm stuck in a cell with some crazy demon inside of me. I think I'm beyond looking good," GQ replies. "And there are only so many shitty books I can read before losing it."

Rick grimaces. "I'll talk to Waller."

"You wanna argue for a library card?" GQ asks. "Tolstoy might be a nice change. All doom and gloom. Fits the decor of this place."

"I don't know," Rick says, and he sounds tired, exhausted.

GQ swallows, suddenly feeling guilty. "It's not your fault," he says.

"Kinda is," Rick replies, and he walks away before GQ can answer.

~*~

He asks Croc to play 'Three truths and a lie.'

Doesn't get an answer.

~*~

There's a squad of guards in front of his cell, weapons ready. There's something more than tension in their stance, a barely controlled anger. It makes something inside of GQ thrum with anticipation.

"Library trip?" he offers, taking a step forward. Smiles when he sees them square up, another wave of tension running through the group outside of his cell.

"Play date," one of the guards finally says.

GQ can see the edges of his smirk through the mask he's wearing, answers the smirk with one of his own. "Sounds good," he says, and his hands are balled into fists, nails digging into the soft skin of his palm, sharper than they were just moments ago. "Wanna play with me?"

They are on him a few seconds later.

It's not exactly a fair fight.

But it's fun.

It's Rick who stops him. Rick, who is suddenly by his side, taking a hit with a pained groan, stumbling away from GQ. Shouting at him, his voice barely breaking through.

But break through, it does.

GQ blinks at the bodies surrounding him, pained groans filling the air.

"They wanted to play?" he offers. Then, he steps back into his cell, holding up his hands.

Rick curses.

~*~

"I need something to do," he tells Waller, and he knows that he can't make demands, knows that she doesn't care about him. He's just this little freak she keeps in her basement along with the rest of the thugs and criminals and murderers she collected.

He's just one of the boys.

"Please," he adds.

She doesn't say anything before she leaves.

~*~

They put him in Croc's cell.

"Play date," a guard says again and grins.

GQ forces himself to stay calm, to follow their orders. Walks into Croc's cell with his hands cuffed behind his back, doesn't argue when they leave him like that. Stares into the darkness of Croc's cell, darker than his own, and waits.

It feels like he spends hours like this.

But he's used to that now.

He almost doesn't see Croc when he breaks through the surface of the shallow pool, his skin as dark as the water, his movement silent. It's only this tense thing inside of him that tells him to turn to the muddy water, this thing that wants to fight and maim and kill. GQ pushes it down.

Says, "Hi," and watches as Croc climbs out of the pool.

And remembers Midway City.

Remembers this brief moment between seeing Croc fight the monsters and turning away from him. Remembers that it felt, just for a few seconds, like it all could work out.

~*~

It's Rick who leads him back into his cell hours later, knocking against the bars to let them know he's there, waiting silently for GQ to offer his wrists so he can handcuff him. It's almost easy, a moment that feels startlingly normal, and for the few steps that separate the cells, they are side by side again.

It almost feels like it used to be.

But it isn't, and when they reach his cell, GQ jerks away. He's one of the bad guys now, after all. He doesn't get to walk like this with Rick anymore.

~*~

The guards return the next day, and they lead him back into Croc's cell. GQ doesn't fight them, doesn't even think about it, just follows along. Steps into Croc's cell, into the dim light of it. Sees Croc crouched in a corner and grins.

“Hi,” GQ greets Croc again.

Again, Croc doesn't reply. GQ doesn't mind. He settles down next to the pool of dark water, lets his fingers graze the surface. Asks, "How fast are you?" Turns to Croc. "When you swim, I mean."

A smirk, the sharp edges of Croc's teeth showing. "Faster than you."

GQ grins.

~*~

It's turning into a thing, Croc and his cell and GQ. And GQ knows that there is a method to this new madness, knows that there is more to it than he can see. It's Waller's kind of madness, after all, and she always has a plan. Even for the two monsters in her basement.

~*~

GQ looks at himself in the reflection of Croc's pool, looks at his distorted image.

Doesn't quite see himself.

~*~

They play cards.

GQ is losing.

~*~

June settles on the ground in front of his cell, face painfully open and bare. Vulnerable.

For a moment, GQ hardly remembers the witch possessing her. But the memory comes back, sharp and mean, the edges of losing his men, the heat of an explosion. It's the kind of memory that always comes back, a memory that has teeth to it.

Still, he sits down across from her.

"I still dream of her," she says, and there's no hesitation in her voice.

GQ looks at her.

June smiles.

“She filled me up, she used every part of me until my body was hers and I was just an afterthought,” she goes on. “For her, I wasn't even there.”

Another smile, sharp with bitterness.

“I remember the people she killed.” And she stops there, her eyes losing their focus, and it worries GQ for a moment. Then, June says, “I remember the people she changed.”

A huff, June looking away. “That's the part that gets me.”

She stands up, paces in front of his cell. GQ remains on the ground. Watches her.

"You must hate me," she finally says. "They were your men."

"They were," GQ agrees. He doesn't tell her that he misses them. Doesn't tell her that it hurts, that Rick was the one to notify their families about their deaths. Thinks of the presence beneath his skin. Shakes his head and says, "I don't hate you."

June stops, stands still. Says, finally, "Thank you."

~*~

GQ dreams of the sky.

And he dreams of swimming, of diving.

He dreams of the open sea.

~*~

"You two seem to get along," Rick says, and GQ hates how sceptical he sounds, hates the way Rick seems to _wait_ for something.

Shrugs and says, “He's alright.”

Rick laughs, shakes his head. “Sure. Killer Croc is _alright_.”

GQ stops in the hallway outside of his cell, turns to Rick, a flash of anger under his skin and in his bones. Time skips. The handcuffs make a sound like tired metal, and it's so very loud in the space between them.

Rick takes a step back. Says, "Lieutenant," and there's an order in the word. Says, "GQ," and there is worry in his voice. His hand rests on his gun.

GQ blinks. Looks down at his own hands. Sees the broken handcuffs. Steps into his cell without a word.

Rick is silent as he locks the door behind him.

~*~

He teaches Croc 'Never have I ever', and it's dumb, it's silly, and GQ hasn't laughed like this for quite a while.

~*~

GQ takes off his shoes, pulls up his pants. He sits down next to Croc's little pool and lets his legs dangle in the water. It's cool against his skin, tranquil.

"Huh," he says. "This isn't as disgusting as I thought it would be."

Somewhere behind him, Croc makes an annoyed sound. It's almost familiar.

GQ grins. "Sorry, didn't mean to diss your private piece of the ocean."

A few moments later, Croc settles down next to him, a shadow right out of someone else's nightmare. And GQ thinks of leaning into him, of moving closer, of finally touching somebody again. It doesn't worry him. He is crazy, after all.

And he likes Croc.

~*~

Waller sends Rick after Harley again, and he takes the others with him for the ride. GQ wants to go with them, knows that he can't. The others are edging out of Waller's control whenever they leave Belle Reve, whenever they are alone with Rick.

GQ isn't even under his own control.

So he doesn't ask to be on the team. Only watches as a group of guards gets Croc, every single one of them amusingly tense. He applauds when they finally lead Croc out of his cell. Smirks when one of the men turns to him with a glare.

“Hey,” he calls after Croc. “Be careful. It's a mean, dangerous world out there.”

It's supposed to be a joke.

~*~

Days pass. Croc doesn't come back.

Neither does Rick.

Time crawls.

GQ wakes up to messages written in his own blood littering the ground, meaningless words he has no hopes of understanding. The words in Harley's books begin to turn into fragments.

He dreams of a bomb, and he dreams of drowning.

June finds him, her face tight with worry. GQ reaches through the bars, his fingers grazing her skin before a guard steps forward. GQ pulls away then. He has no time for another fight, as fun as it seems to be for the thing inside of him.

“Have you heard anything?” he asks.

June shakes her head. “They don't really talk to me.”

"Yeah," GQ agrees, and he hates it, this moment, this life. His purpose lost, his mind filled up with voices. "Yeah," he repeats.

They stand together then, still and unmoving.

Waiting.

June starts to cry. And GQ can't do anything about it.

Then, a guard steps forward, lays a hand on June's shoulder. GQ sees the way she jerks away. Sees it and feels a rage that isn't his. Takes a step closer to the bars, reaches through them just like he has done before, reaches for the guard.

Loses time. Kills the guard. Thinks he wanted to.

[There are voices in his head again.]

“You're unraveling,” Waller tells him hours later. “I had too much confidence in you.”

GQ shrugs. "It's pretty easy to be a monster."

~*~

Rick returns with new bruises and cuts and a guilty look to his eyes.

Rick returns without Croc.

~*~

"Let me go with them," GQ says.

It's been days since Rick came back with the tattered remains of his soldiers and the squad, days since he left Croc behind in the Joker's hand. It's been too long.

Waller stares at him, face hard and flinty. GQ wonders what she sees, hopes it's the monster under his skin, hopes it's the weapon he can be. Holds himself impossibly still - a promise to be what she needs him to be, dangerous but in control.

Finally, she nods.

Rick is with him when the doctors put the nanite bomb into his neck, glaring at the personnel surrounding them, glaring at the tiny, little thing that could kill GQ so easily. "I told them that you wouldn't need it," he says, voice hard with anger.

GQ snorts. "I kinda do, Rick."

Rick looks away.

GQ thinks of something assuring to say. Doesn't come up with anything.

“Let's go get our murderous crocodile man,” he says instead.

~*~

The mission turns into an unmitigated disaster a few hours in. A shitty explosive kills some of their men, the booby traps spread all over the Joker's headquarters costing them even more. GQ is pretty sure that nobody is surprised.

“This,” Deadshot says, “is bullshit.”

Rick clasps his elbow, the briefest of touches, before saying, “I'm getting you back in time for homework.”

Harley, GQ thinks, would have cooed at them in delight. But Harley isn't here, and Katana is silent, and Harkness is busy poking at some knives he found in the Joker's living room.

“Don't touch that,” GQ tells him absently. “You don't know where it's been.”

There's blood on his hands, sticky and dark.

He needs to find Croc.

~*~

They march through room after room, careful and slow. GQ hates it, wants to run instead, wants to tear into the thugs and rip them limb from limb until someone tells him where Croc is.

But he can't, not until Croc is with them, can't because he needs to survive long enough. So he follows where Rick and Deadshot lead, and he watches their six. He controls the anger inside of him, reshapes it until it's cold and sharp and focused.

It's his own fury, for once.

He can make it useful.

Then, they find the hole.

It's deep, and it's dark, and it smells of rot and decay.

And GQ knows that Croc is in there.

They kill the guards standing around it, the sound of bullets hitting bodies filling the air. And for a few moments, the world is made of blood and dust and screams, and the monster inside of GQ is satisfied.

Then, reality happens in fragments, alien and disrupted. GQ stumbles forward and ends up on his knees next to the hole. Wraps his hands around the bars covering it and lets himself fall away for a moment, lets the ghost of a god rise. Rips the metal away. At his side, the sound of Deadshot switching off the safety of his gun, pointing it at GQ. GQ’s hands balled into fists.

Rick steps forward then, sinks to the ground next to GQ. Doesn't speak, just pulls a rope out of his equipment bag and lowers it into the hole. Hands it to GQ and backs off. Silence surrounds them.

A weight at the end of the rope, GQ's arms tensing as he pulls the rope up, pulls Croc up. There's blood covering Croc, there's blood under GQ's hands when he touches him, and GQ wants to kill somebody for it.

But Croc is in the open, Croc is free, Croc is _alive_.

~*~

They are in a hallway, the lights above them flickering, and reality rearranges itself slowly, GQ's mind settling like dust after a fight.

"You look like shit," GQ tells Croc.

Croc grunts. "You always do."

~*~

GQ wants to go back home, wants to return to Belle Reve, wants doctors for Croc. But there's still Harley somewhere, there's still the mission. So they go on, walking through the Joker's maze. Behind them, the ground is littered with bodies. Ahead of them lies danger and death.

They run into another one of the Joker's trap.

They run into the Joker.

There are explosions and gunshots and screams, there are people dying around him, soldiers and minions. GQ thinks he hears Harley laughing, Harley sobbing. 

There's blood and dust in his eyes. The whirr of Harkness' boomerang above him. Deadshot a few feet away from him, bullets littering the ground around him. Rick and Katana standing back to back, gun and sword drawn.

Croc somewhere ahead of him.

GQ can hear him, the deep growl, the satisfying sound of bodies hitting the ground. He can hear him until he can't.

Somewhere to his left, an alarm sounds. He hardly reacts to it. Instead, GQ stumbles forward, drawn in by the absence of something, of Croc, the feeling that something isn't right, isn't what it's supposed to be.

Then, he sees Croc on the ground.

Bleeding from new wounds, his arm in a sick angle. A shape leaning over him, a knife in its hand. GQ can see the metal glinting through the smoke of all the explosions going off, can see the dark red of Croc's blood spreading out beneath him. For a moment, he doesn't quite understand it.

Doesn't feel anything.

Croc is too strong, after all, is some kind of hero, and he saved GQ from a bomb, saved him after, too, with football and words and messages knocked against a wall. Croc saved him. And GQ can't lose him.

So Croc can't die.

GQ won't let him.

So then there is rage.

And darkness.

And letting go.

~*~

They all die so easily.

~*~

GQ wakes up.

[He crushed somebody's head with his bare hands. Crushed it, and maybe he liked it, maybe it felt right.]

Croc is lying a few feet away from him. There's still blood spreading through his shirt, staining the dark fabric. For a moment GQ thinks he shouldn't be able to see that, shouldn't have noticed it at all. But he did, he does, and a growl escapes his mouth.

“That,” GQ hears Harkness say, “was some crazy shit.”

Deadshot huffs.

Katana's hand rests on her sword.

Rick is silent, his eyes on GQ. GQ thinks there's no judgment there, just something calm, something quiet. GQ almost smiles. Doesn't.

GQ gets up slowly, his body aching with new injuries, and he crosses the small distance that separates him from Croc. Slumps down next to him. Breathes in, slowly, deeply, counts to five. Reaches out.

He runs his fingers over Croc's scales, dark green, black flecks, rough and dry under his touch, and he presses his hand against the wound at his side. Croc groans, pained and exhausted.

GQ doesn't like it.

But they won another battle, and they'll be home soon. Croc will be just fine. GQ swallows his worry, gives Croc the smile he couldn't give Rick, and says, “I guess I owned it”

Croc grins.


End file.
